Page 86 of Brutal Legacy

“Again — just you.”

I shivered, and Elio noticed. He stepped back and pulled me into the hot spray. This time, I was able to bend my head forward so the water hit the back of my neck and eased the tension there a little. Not all the way. I wasn’t insane enough to relax when I was next to naked in the shower with the tattooed menace standing in front of me. He reached out again for the soap and squirted another jet into his palm. He held it out to me.

“Wash.”

His grunted instruction only pissed me off. I was so angry. I was so sad. I was feeling everything at once, and it had to go somewhere, or I’d explode. I simply couldn’t hold all those emotions inside at once.

I knocked his hand away. “Don’t tell me what to do. I told you, I’m not going to follow your orders, so you can just lay off it already.”

Elio’s impassive face could have been hewn from stone. How did he manage that cool facade? It was impressive, and annoying as hell. I wanted him to burn with rage and frustration like I did.

“I said wash the blood off, Georgia,” he said in a low tone that would have made someone smarter than me take notice.

“No,” I stated calmly instead.

He sighed and lifted one shoulder in a gesture of defeat. That was easier than I’d expected. I’d barely formed the thought when he advanced.

“Hey!” I grunted.

He backed me into the wall. The cold tiles were a shock against my overheated skin.

“I said, wash. If you can’t do that, I’ll have to do it for you.”

“Don’t you dare,” I hissed, twisting around to face away from him so I didn’t have to feel his hot skin on my chilled body. My nipples felt like they could cut glass, and the thought of Elio feeling them pushing into his chest, of knowing how he affected me… I couldn’t stand it. I tensed just as his hands landed on my hips.

They were soapy and slick. He ran them up my sides and over my stomach, and I put my hands on the tile to brace myself.

With a perfect slow and methodical grace, he began to wash me. His soapy hands ran across my stomach, roaming up my back and along my shoulders and neck, rubbing away any place Jimmy De Luca’s blood had touched me.

And damn me, I couldn’t stop him.

I didn’t want to.

I was so fucking touch-starved, his strong, insistent hands running along my arms and over my collarbones turned me inside out. So, this was what it felt like to be alive. I’d nearly forgotten.

His hand circled my neck, scrubbing away the blood that had congealed there until the water swirled pink beneath our feet. I was panting, my breath coming hot and short. His hand rested on my throat, his fingers digging in just a touch, enough to make my breath catch. I could feel his naked body brushing my back.

“What am I going to do with you,topolina?” he asked me, his voice a growl.

He was still hard, his cock poking insistently into the small of my back. His other hand had paused on my breastbone, just shy of touching my bra. I wanted the damn thing off. It felt offensively unwanted, that harsh, wet lace, when all I craved was to feel his skin on mine. As if he were reading my thoughts, his hand dipped lower, brushing the cups of my bra, circling my hard nipples that were pointing through determinedly.

He pinched one, and I gasped, water getting into my mouth.

“This isn’t going to do,” he murmured, and with a sharp, strong tug, pulled the strapless bra down, forcing my breasts to pop free. His hand returned to the shower gel and then touched me again. He started on my left breast, the place where a fine patina of red had dried just above where the dress had sat.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said quietly.

My heart clenched hard.

I closed my eyes and let myself sway back against his superior strength. It had been a long, long time since I’d had someoneto lean on. And I had to be weak as hell, because I couldn’t stop myself. His hand, still slick with soap, advanced across my breast, finding my nipple and tugging on it. My legs nearly gave out at that sensation. It was all too much for me. The steam rising around us, sending the air thick, and the smell of jasmine and neroli, and Elio. He fogged my senses. His skin burned my back. He was so hot and hard. His other hand was still on my throat, gently holding me in place, his thumb playing over my pulse. As his hand shifted to my other breast, my head fell back onto his chest. God, I was a sucker. I knew it as clear as day and yet, I didn’t want him to stop. It felt too good, and I was tired of feeling like shit all the time. My head was pressing into his collarbone, and he bent his face forward and nosed through my wet hair.

What was this sickness in my blood? How could I want him like this, after all that had happened between us?

Beneath this skin, a world waits to be discovered.

The poem he wrote, all those years ago, still as true now as it had been then. There had never been anything ordinary about the electricity between us when we’d touched. It had been magic, and it was still there. Stronger, even.

The hand on my breasts moved downward, and I mourned it for a moment, then it hit my lower abdomen and kept going. His fingers slid into the top of my panties, and I arched back, my hindbrain screaming for more.Yes, touch me. Yes, remind me what it feels like.

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